


You Always Come Back To Haunt Me

by pointsweremade



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, M/M, Minor Kageyama Tobio/Yachi Hitoka, Minor Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi, Minor Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi, Not Beta Read, Past Hinata Shouyou/Tsukishima Kei, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:07:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27852230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pointsweremade/pseuds/pointsweremade
Summary: Kenma's birthday celebrations take a turn when someone from the past comes back.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shouyou/Kozume Kenma, Hinata Shouyou/Tsukishima Kei, Kageyama Tobio/Yachi Hitoka, Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 17
Kudos: 79





	1. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me at 2am: I want to write a short one-shot featuring stripping in some way.
> 
> Me at 6am: *has written over 5000 words and is only halfway through*
> 
> Anyway, I'm in the middle of writing a TsukiHina one-shot, but it's taking ages because it's kinda heavy and takes a lot to write it. So, I got this idea one night while writing it and it wouldn't leave until I brought it to fruition.

Kenma doesn’t think he’s come as close to killing Kuroo as he has now, standing on an abandoned street on the outskirts of the city.

“What the _fuck_ are we doing here, Kuro?” He grumbles, looking at the others who look equally as confused as he is. Even Sawamura, Kuroo’s _fiancé_ seems out of the loop, shrugging helplessly when Kenma looks to him for help.

The night started innocently enough, the twelve of them had gone out for dinner at some nice restaurant in the heart of the city. It was a bit rowdy – always has been every time they catch up, but the upstanding atmosphere of the venue did serve to tone them down a bit. The only real fuss occurred when Kenma paid for the whole meal, much to the chagrin of everyone there. But when you’re a multi-millionaire who _does nothing_ , what else are you supposed to spend it on?

That doesn’t mean Kuroo has to _kill him_ in retaliation. If their location is any indication, he’s almost certain a group of thugs is going to appear from the alley and shoot them all.

Kenma’s so done with this situation that he’s already accepted it.

Because the street they stand on _truly_ looks abandoned. Not one business is open, and the buildings that actually house something like entirely too depleted to be safe work environments. The only building that doesn’t look moments away from crumbling is the one they stand in front of.

But that doesn’t give him a vote of confidence considering the _entire façade_ has been painted black – the walls, the doors, the _windows_. It looks like the perfect scene for a murder where no one will ever find them.

Again, Kenma’s so done with this situation that he’s already accepted it.

“I second that,” Sawamura speaks up from beside Sugawara, walking up to his fiancé. “What _are_ we doing here, Tetsu?”

Everyone looks at the man in question, who only grins wide, like he’s relishing the attention he’s getting. He probably is.

“ _Well_ ,” he drawls, permanent smirk sitting on his face. Kenma wants to punch him. “Since it’s Kenma’s 24th birthday today-”

“For another 25 minutes,” Kenma interrupts.

Kuroo rolls his eyes, “Since it’s Kenma’s 24th birthday _today_ , I thought that dinner alone was _not_ enough to celebrate. _Especially_ since the birthday boy himself refused to let anyone pay!” Murmurs from agreement spread amongst their friends and a loud _yeah, Kenma not cool!_ from Bokuto sounds.

Kenma’s going to kill him next.

“Right,” Sawamura says, crossing his arms and looking doubtfully at the bed-headed man. “And just _what_ celebration could you have planned _here_?”

“Ah babe,” Kuroo sighs mischievously, wrapping his arm around the shorter man’s waist. Kenma doesn’t know how Sawamura hasn’t killed him already. “ _That’s_ a surprise for when we get inside.”

“ _Inside_?” Yamaguchi squeaks from next to Tsukishima and Kageyama, who both look just as impressed as Kenma feels.

He takes a small moment to appreciate that they could make it – that they _all_ could make it, with everyone’s hectic schedule.

He’s known Yaku, Lev and Yamamoto for years and cherishes them all in his own way – even if the latter two make him want to strangle their necks every other conversation they have.

Sugawara is a newer addition, he knew him only in passing in high school, but had grown closer to him in recent years as they both have to suffer from the ridiculousness that is Kuroo’s and Sawamura’s relationship. The silver-haired teacher now comes around monthly to ensure that Kenma hasn’t actually died while marathoning a new game or taking a bath.

Akaashi and Bokuto are a given, he sees them fortnightly even with all their hectic schedules. The married couple has always been good to Kenma, similar to Sugawara in their attempts to keep him healthy, just a little insufferable at times with how infatuated they are with each other – even after all these years.

But it’s Yamaguchi, Tsukishima and Kageyama who he truly doesn’t know where he’d be without. The Karasuno graduates come around so often they all have a spare key to Kenma’s house, and a designated room for each. The four had grown inexplicably closer after high school, near inseparable now.

 _Had grown closer after what happened_ , his mind supplies unhelpfully.

He tunes back in to rid the thought.

“This isn’t something illegal is it, Tetsu?” Sawamura asks worriedly and Kenma can only hope the same. He knows Kuroo can have a dramatic flair, but surely – surely – when his own fiancé is a policeman, he wouldn’t _actually_ blatantly go against the law, right?

_Right?_

“ _Of course not!_ ” Kuroo squawks, earning a relieved sigh for the whole group. “ _Hey!_ ” Kuroo yells indignantly.

Kenma sighs, “if we go look at this _surprise_ , will you stop being like-” he waves his hand at Kuroo.

“You just gestured to all of me,” Kuroo says, to which Kenma shrugs. _Oh well, what can you do_. But Kuroo doesn’t let this deter him, grinning widely and gesturing for them all to follow him to heavy looking double doors, painted flat black.

He knocks a rhythmic tune and steps back, waiting a few seconds for the door to open, revealing a heavy set man in all black.

The man looks at the group before settling on Kuroo, “name?”

“Kuroo Testurō,” Kuroo states, pulling out his wallet to flash his ID.

The man inspects it before nodding, gesturing to the group, “they all with you?” At Kuroo’s nod the man pulls back to open both doors wide, letting the group into what they can now see is a _fucking extravagant foyer_.

They stop in the middle, gaping at the interior. _What the fuck_ kind of place on the outskirts of town in a rundown street has large crystal chandelier just casually dangling in the middle of the room? Lounge chairs draped in red velvet line the foyer, while a grand staircase leads up to the second floor, a few people ( _employees?_ ) bustle around the area wearing suits, disappearing into doors and under the staircase.

A man’s voice snaps the group out of their stupor. They all turn to see an older man standing next to them, obviously an employee. “You’ll be seated on the mezzanine tonight, as requested you are the only group up there.” He points up the stairs, where a suited man stands next to double doors, no doubt leading them to their supposed booked table. “Before you go, I request that you leave your mobile devices here with me. A policy for all customers, but we have a separate safe for each group and all liability does rest on us if something is to happen.” The group looks at each other warily before deciding to give up their phones. They’re all too intrigued as to just _where_ Kuroo has taken them to argue.

Once their phones are stored safely, the man comes back and smiles politely at them all, “you’ve come just in time; our main event starts at midnight. Have a lovely evening, gentlemen.”

With that the man bows and lets them all walk up the stairs to the where the other man opens the door for them. The room is large and dark, only sparse blue lights surrounding the area in some random spots. They’ve entered a small mezzanine area and scattered around are some lounge chairs and coffee tables, making it evident to Kenma that this isn’t another restaurant. When he peers over the railing he sees a small stage and runway towards the back of the large room, a bar to the left and similar tables and chairs spread around the room. The downstairs area is decently populated with well-dressed men and women, which explains why Kuroo asked them all to dress to the nines tonight.

Something Kenma _does_ take notice of is the pole that sits at the end of the runway and the few scantily clad women that walk through the crowd, occasionally stopping to talk to customers – he witnesses one pull a man through a curtain next to the stage, into a back room.

 _Oh,_ Kenma thinks, _it’s_ that _sort of place_.

He’s not the only one to notice either because he hears a soft _thump!_ and looks to see Sawamura has slapped Kuroo upside the head.

“You booked a _stripper bar_ for Kenma’s birthday?!” Sawamura seethes.

“Wait, I didn’t know!” Kuroo defends, grabbing onto Sawamura’s arm.

This stops the former Karasuno captain, who eyes his fiancé warily. Finally, he tugs his arm back and sighs, “okay, explain then.” Kenma, not for the first time, admires the patience Sawamura has for Kuroo because his want to kill Kuroo has just come back tenfold.

His childhood friend booked him a table at a _stripper bar_ for Christ’s sake.

“Okay, remember a month ago when I saved that guy from being run over from a car?” The group collectively nods, but Kenma can’t help but think what a _fucking weird_ place to start the story. “Well he wanted to find some way to thank me, and I – jokingly! _Jokingly!_ – said _if you can help me show my friend a good time for his birthday next month consider us even_.”

“He didn’t-” Tsukishima speaks up, but is cut off immediately.

“I’m getting there!” Kuroo exclaims. “So we exchange numbers and then a couple weeks ago he tells me that he is able to reserve me an area in this _ultra-exclusive_ club, that you can only go to if you’ve been invited by the owners themselves. _He didn’t tell me it was a stripper bar!_ ”

They all stare in silence for a moment before sighing, clearing deciding to believe the man.

“Still,” Tsukishima pipes up again, snark evident in his voice. “You just get told by this near stranger to go to this random place in the middle of nowhere at midnight?”

“He was trustworthy!”

“And how would you know?”

“Because,” Kuroo sighs again, “he’s the CEO of the second biggest tech conglomerate in Japan.”

 _This_ silences everyone. How _the fuck_ was Kuroo able to pull _that off_?

“Well,” Sugawara speaks up, making everyone look at him. “Considering we’re on the mezzanine by ourselves, it’s not like we’ll have any of the, uh, _performers_ coming up here. And we don’t have to watch whatever _main event_ they have going on either.” Despite his efforts to settle the tension, his face is bright red even in the low lighting of the lounge.

Kenma understands how he feels, too shocked by the turn of events to even speak up. He’s been to a bar exactly seven times in his life, and zero of them had strippers. But he’s almost positive it’s the same for every other person in their group, so it’s not like he’s alone in this.

“Suga, Kageyama has a _girlfriend_ ,” Sawamura argues.

“Kageyama,” Sugawara says sweetly to the raven-haired boy. He startles from his staring contest with the ground, seemingly intent on not looking up at all. “Just stick with me the whole night so you don’t see anything unsavoury, and we can talk to Yachi about this together in the morning.”

Kageyama blushes, but nods, going to sit on a chair by the wall, giving him only a slight view of the stage. Not like that matters, considering the setter refuses to look up from his feet.

“Okay,” Sawamura sighs, “what about the fact that we have _four_ professional volleyball players, a _model_ , and _famous YouTuber Kodzuken_ with us?” And that’s a _very_ good point. If this gets out that’ll be a PR nightmare waiting to happen.

“Well, they took our phones, so I’m assuming they’ve taken other people’s as well,” Kuroo pipes up.

“And look Daichi,” Sugawara says. “ _That’s_ that famous actor who just won a few awards. _Those_ are professional baseball players.” He points at one last point, but then pulls back slightly. “Is that our Prime Minister?”

The group gapes at him, but he shakes his head and looks at Sawamura, “I doubt we’ll be making many headlines with the place _filled_ with people like that. It’ll be fine, okay?”

Sawamura looks around before sighing and looking directly at Kenma, slightly starting the shorter man. “Kenma, this is up to you. Don’t listen to my idiot fiancé, if you don’t want to be here we’ll leave.”

Kenma thinks it over for a few seconds. Normally, he’d say he’d like to go – but that’s only because he’d rather be in his gaming room at any given moment than actually socially interacting.

But the group hasn’t depleted his social battery yet, too minimal at dinner to frazzle him completely, and if he’s honest this place _does_ interest him a bit. A secret, invitation-only stripper lounge that houses some of the most well-known people in Japan?

Kenma would be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued.

So, he sighs and says, “I’m okay to stay.” And that’s that. 

They have two dedicated waiters who come around to take their orders. According to the brunette one they’re free to have all the drinks they want as their tab is being paid for by _the gentleman in the dark grey suit near the stage_. When they all peer to see who it is, they realise it’s the man Kuroo saved.

Kenma begins to wonder just how close this man was to death to be so indebted to someone like _Kuroo_.

Kenma settles down on a couch near the railing, a rum-based drink sitting loosely in his hand. He sips only a little at a time, not too big on the idea of drinking on someone else’s money. Some of the others don’t seem to have this dilemma and are quickly moving onto their next drink despite being here less than 20 minutes.

He sees Tsukishima and Yamaguchi come over to him, sitting together on the couch across from him. Yamaguchi holds a glass containing something dark, while Tsukishima holds what looks to be a fruity cocktail. Their other hands are intertwined together, Yamaguchi’s head resting lightly on the blonde’s shoulder as he overlooks the room below.

Not for the first time, he feels his gut clench in envy at the fact that the two found happiness in each other. It took a long while – almost two years after they’d graduated high school – but while Kenma is glad Tsukishima was able to overcome _it all_ and find happiness with his childhood friend, he’s also a little bitter that he himself can’t seem to do the same.

It’s been over six years and he’s still stuck in the past.

“I’m surprised you said yes,” Tsukishima speaks low, sipping lightly on his drink. He follows Kenma’s eye line to look down at his and Yamaguchi’s interlocked hands, smiling small with pity in his eyes.

Kenma turns away, instead looks down at the floor to not see the expression on the tall man’s face. He absently takes notice that most of the girls have left, probably gone backstage in preparation for whatever _main event_ is about to occur. He also sees that the pole is gone, wonders just _where_ it disappeared to and _when_.

“I’m surprised you guys stayed,” he answers, addressing both males.

Yamaguchi looks away from the room and smiles brightly at the long-haired gamer. “It’s your birthday, Kenma!” He says, laughing as he sips on his drink. It looks overwhelmingly strong, and the wince he pulls after confirms that.

“‘Dashi, you said you wanted to see what this _main event_ is. Don’t use Kenma’s birthday as an excuse,” Tsukishima drawls, smirking down at his boyfriend.

“I’ve never been to a stripper bar before – _sue me!_ ”

“You’re not _interested in girls_ , ‘Dashi.”

“You’re right, I’m interested in _you_ ,” Yamaguchi punctuates this with a kiss on the nose, causing a flush to rise in the blonde’s cheeks.

“Could you _not_ blatantly flirt in front of me on _my birthday_ ,” Kenma interrupts. “Where is Kageyama when you need him.” He looks around to find the setter sitting close to Sugawara, but he must sense Kenma’s gaze because he immediately locks eyes with him and stands to make his way over.

“Let me guess,” he says as he sits down on the couch next to Kenma. “They’re being obnoxiously adorable again?” Kenma snorts and nods wordlessly, while Yamaguchi laughs, and Tsukishima gives him the stink eye.

“Have I ever told you that I _hate_ that you actually have a vocabulary now, King?” Tsukishima snipes, sipping on his drink again.

Kageyama snorts, “you could stand to say it _less_.”

Kageyama’s gotten _much_ better with banter these recent years, miles ahead of Kenma now. He still remembers when he was a too intense, volleyball-obsessed idiot. Well, he’s _still_ all those things – just with more social awareness.

Kenma’s also a little jealous that Kageyama has been able to move on so well, one of the top players in the Japanese Men’s Professional Volleyball League and steady with his high school girlfriend of five years. He knows Yachi was a big help to him at that time, he’d probably be much worse now if he didn’t have her support.

He’d probably be like Kenma.

“Hey losers,” a grating voice sounds from behind him, snapping him from his thoughts. He looks up to see Kuroo walking towards them, an exasperated Sawamura and humoured Sugawara following closely behind. Across from Kenma, behind Tsukishima and Yamaguchi’s couch, stands Akaashi, Bokuto, Yaku, Lev and Yamamoto, all hovering by the railing.

Kenma realises why they’ve all congregated there (despite claiming to not want to see any _performance_ ) when the already dim lights shut off completely.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a deep voice says over speakers. “Thank you for your patience, tonight’s main event – _Sunny_.”

Soft white lights gradually light up the end of the runway, where a set of two cream coloured silk ropes dangle from the ceiling in place of the stripper pole.

Kenma’s mildly intrigued, and a glance around at his friends tells him so are they. But then music starts up, low and sultry, slow and bass heavy. It’s a tune he’s not familiar with, instrumental and intoxicating in how _intimate_ the song feels.

Kenma sucks in a breath when he sees a figure appear from the darkened part of the stage, dressed in a white silk robe so sheer it’s near _translucent_ , and even from here Kenma can see a matching white bralette and pair of panties hugging the person underneath.

Their skin looks silky smooth, creamy and blemish free, near glowing and shimmering under the stage lights. Kenma is sure they must’ve applied glitter or something prior to going on stage, but the effect makes them so ethereal looking he can’t bring himself to care about that detail.

A white lace mask covers the top half of their face, obscuring their eyes from view. Their lips, so full and pink and contrasting against their skin, are set in the faintest smile, just a little cocky. Kenma knows it’s because they’re confident in themselves.

(Kenma also knows they have every right to be – you can’t be a _main event_ without knowing your worth.)

But, despite all of this – despite all these qualities that create a being that is _clearly_ above this earth – Kenma is drawn to their hair.

A touch wavy, tousled as if just having visited the beach, and ending just a few inches past their shoulders, it’s orange – impossibly orange.

_Shōyō’s orange._

Kenma suddenly can’t breathe. He wants to turn away, see if anyone else has thought the same, but he can’t seem to move. The best he can get is hearing a faint _Kei?_ from Yamaguchi, indicating that Tsukishima _has_ made the connection.

Of course he has. Kageyama probably has, too.

The person steps between the ropes and undoes the tie of their robe before tugging it off gently. They let it slip off slowly, let their delicate collarbone and dainty shoulders come into view, followed by the bralette itself – also so sheer that Kenma is _positive_ he can see their nipples underneath – before they let it drop to the floor in a puddle at their feet.

The music quickens minutely, enough for the person to begin their performance in earnest. They wrap the silk cloth of the rope around their left leg, let it caress their skin before suddenly they’re up in the air, twisted around both ropes, suspended in such a way it looks as if they’re _spread out_ on a bed for someone – _underneath_ someone.

They move with the ropes and the rhythm, body twisting between the two pieces of cloth, suspending themselves and dancing around in the air. They still at moments, remain in poses that elicit vivid thoughts about how they’d look on a bed, how they’d look in private.

It’s so overwhelmingly sensual that he realises he’s barely been _breathing_ until Kageyama pats him softly on the back. He manages to break away his gaze from dancer, looking into the setter’s blue eyes, filled with concern.

Kenma knows what he’s thinking, knows he sees Kenma imagining Shōyō, knows this isn’t good for Kenma. But Kenma won’t let him take him away, instead turns back to the stage.

He’s eternally glad he did.

The dancer rests five metres above the floor in an upright position, ropes wrapped around their waist, back arching forward, legs bent just slightly, arms raised high above their head, gripping their silk cloth. They look _sinful_ ; mouth parted as if letting out a moan, body set as if in the throes of passion.

Their ginger hair frames their face, rests on their shoulders, and Kenma is mesmerised.

Then, slowly – _slowly_ – the person slides themselves down to the ground, let’s their legs split apart as they make contact. They keep going, letting the ropes slip from their waist but not their hands, until they’re sitting on the floor in a split, legs spread eagle for all the room to see.

Kenma almost wishes he doesn’t see what comes next, knows he’ll only replay it in his mind with Shōyō as the star.

The performer loosens their grip, let’s the rope dance around their fingers as they slowly move their hands down. Then, those impossibly small hands move to their hair, tangles in it, _tugs_ it. They move down their face, down their neck, _over their chest_ , move to their stomach. All the while, stroking, teasing, caressing. They’re playing with themselves _on stage_ and it looks as if they’re _enjoying it_.

Kenma is sure the torture is over when they plant their hands firmly on the ground in front of them.

But the music, once rhythmic and medium-paced, now slows significantly, deepens into something so _sensual_ on its own. The person’s accompanying movements are near fatal.

They push forward onto their hands, let their legs move behind them until they can push up onto their knees, and suddenly they’re _fucking crawling_ the short distance to the end of the runway.

The crawl is over much too soon, leaves too many possible scenarios in Kenma’s head, but then they sit back, legs forming a _W_ on the floor, head tilting just slightly. They look so unfairly innocent, as if they haven’t just given the whole room masturbation material for weeks – for Kenma, maybe _months_.

But then they contradict themselves, turning quickly so their back faces the crowd, legs pulled together and sitting up in front of them. They rest back on their hands and tilt their head back, as if the stage lights they sit under are the sun and they _bask in it_ – bask in the _attention_.

Their hair, still so orange and Shōyō-esque, cascades to the floor as they continue to dip down, head tilting back even more to give the audience a glimpse of their face. Their lips are parted, head moving side to side in minuscule movements, as if analysing the crowd. Every move they make is calculated, like a predator hunting its prey.

Kenma feels as if he’s trapped, glued to his seat, unable to move.

Something Kenma does notice is that being up on the mezzanine, watching the performance from above, means they get a full view. Get to watch as the dancer’s back finally hits the floor, head dangling over the side of the stage, hair bouncing as they come to rest.

They get to watch as their legs split open again, creamy thighs parting as if granting a lover access. They get to watch as their hands move up said thighs, stroking them, barely brushing their privates, caressing their torso, until their hands rest at their neck.

They get to watch as those delicate hands tighten their grip around their glimmering neck, watch as they open their mouth in a silent moan, watch as their tongue pokes out just a little, watch as their back arches high off the floor.

 _Kenma_ gets to watch them move as if they’re orgasming, right there on stage.

And then the music cuts off, lights shut down and suddenly they’re seeing nothing.

The room sits in silence for a few moments, tries to comprehend the pure erotica they just witnessed, tries to cling onto the feeling, the memory. Their group continues to sit in silence while the rest of the room begins to clap quietly. Kenma can feel from the electricity in the air that they want to do more, to make a ruckus, to have the dancer for themselves, but in this lounge, a place of luxury and upstanding, they can’t.

The lights turn back on a minute later, the performer gone from sight and the stage now clear of silk cloth ropes. Kenma can’t bring himself to look away from the empty stage, can’t really make sense of his thoughts at the moment.

He’s finally pulled from his staring contest by a heavy hand coming down on his shoulder. He jumps and looks up at Sugawara, who’s face holds a sombre expression.

“You okay?” He asks. Behind him stands Kuroo and Sawamura, concern mirrored in their eyes. When Kenma looks around at the group he finds them all looking at him, all with that same look.

He sighs, knowing that he can’t just deflect their concern. They’ve all been here from the moment it happened; they all know what’s going through his head right now. “Yeah,” he says softly, looking back to the empty stage. “It just…They looked like…” he trails off, not really wanting to say it out loud.

“Like Hinata?” Kageyama finishes. Kenma’s eyes snap back to him, widened in alarm, but all that he sees in the setter’s face is comfort – gentle smile and gentler eyes.

Kenma nods silently and takes a big gulp of his forgotten drink in hopes of distracting himself.

Kuroo makes his way to stand next to the long-haired man. “Kenma,” he says softly. “She wasn’t Hinata.”

 _She_.

Kuroo’s right. That was a girl up there, as much as Kenma can liken the hair of the performer to Shōyō, as much as he can replay the images of the dancer spread across the stage with Shōyō in mind, he knows the truth.

That wasn’t Shōyō down there.

He sighs again and nods minutely. “Yeah, yeah I know,” he agrees. It’s then that he realises that the atmosphere around the group is _awkward_. Not only did most of them just witness their first live, er, _erotic dance_ , but they all had to watch it with the thought of Shōyō in their heads. As much as Kenma really doesn’t like to draw attention to himself, he feels he should take responsibility in dissipating the awkwardness.

He laughs lightly, surely startling everyone. “Let’s get another round of drinks, guys,” he says. Immediately, everyone’s bodies relax, and they all murmur their agreements.

One of the waiters walks back in a few moments later, but before anyone can order, he clears his throat. “Sir Nakamura has come to visit,” he says before a tall man dressed in a dark grey suit walks through the doors.

He’s older, face lined with faint wrinkles and hair salt-and-pepper, and the group immediately knows this is the man that Kuroo saved that day.

“Mr. Nakamura,” Kuroo says in shock, bowing. The rest all stand quickly and bow as well, showing their respect.

The man just laughs, “please lift your heads.” They all so slowly, looking at the smiling man. For a billionaire, he seems quite genuine. “I just came to see how the man I owe my life to is doing. And also the birthday boy,” he turns his sights onto Kenma directly, unnerving him slightly.

“Kozume Kenma, I presume?” Nakamura asks, walking over and reaching his hand out.

Kenma takes it, giving it a shake, confused. “Yes, but-” he tries to ask how the man knows him. It doesn’t seem like Kuroo told the man his name.

Nakamura waves his hand, “I run a tech company and you’re the biggest Japanese gaming YouTuber. We’ve sent you multiple products to review and try out, I’d be pretty bad at my job if I didn’t have some idea as to who you were,” he laughs again. “Besides, my nephews watch you non-stop.”

“Right,” Kenma says because it makes sense.

“Anyway this old man won’t be here for long,” he winks at the group before turning to Kuroo. “I’m just looking to see if my debt is repaid with this night?”

“Sir, there was never any debt!” Kuroo laughs along with the man. “But, uh, you never did mention this was a…” he trails off, not really sure how to finish the sentence.

“A cabaret bar?”

“A _what?_ ”

“Similar to a stripper bar, but more…” Nakamura trails off before grinning again. “Tasteful.” This doesn’t really help the group. Despite what the older man says, they’ve never _experienced_ a stripper bar to actually know the difference. “But, considering what this place is, they _do_ offer a little extra, which is why I’m here.” He turns back to Kenma then, a twinkle in his eye.

Kenma thinks that maybe this man and Kuroo are just a bit too similar.

“I’ve got their best dancer coming up to meet you personally and if you enjoy his presence, then he’ll take you into one of their _private rooms_.” And there it is, the man wants to set Kenma up with a glorified prostitute.

Wait, _he_? A _male_?

“I’m sorry,” Tsukishima speaks up. “Did you just say _he_? As in-”

“A male?” Sugawara interrupts.

“Well, I’m not going to offer the famous _Kodzuken_ a go with a _woman_ after he came out not just three months ago,” Nakamura guffaws. “I thought we established that I’m, as they say, _hip with the kids_ ,” he laughs again, and everyone reluctantly joins. _He is a billionaire after all_.

“Sorry Sir,” Sawamura speaks up. “We just didn’t realise there were male-” he coughs, cheeks pinking slightly. _“Performers_ here.”

“Ah, half of them are,” Nakamura states easily, turning back to the partially open door. He must see something because he starts walking slowly to the door, a grin settled on his face. “In fact, the dancer you all just watched is male. And,” The man reaches his hands out the door and a dainty hand extends from behind the doorframe to grab hold of it. “Here he is now. Everyone, meet _Sunny_.”

The hand, pale and shimmering just like when it was on stage, slowly moves forward, revealing the person they’d just watched. They’re still wearing the white lingerie set, but sheer white stockings ending mid-thigh adorn their legs, tall white heels on their feet.

Their mask is gone, letting the whole group watch as hazel eyes fall on them, the coy smile on their lips fading as they take in the Kenma and his friends.

Across from him he sees Tsukishima’s eyes widen and mouth drop open. In front of him, Kageyama pales, shaking.

Kenma is suddenly feeling nauseous, like he’s about to empty the contents of his stomach all over the floor. His skin feels clammy, simultaneously hot and cold as eyes glowing amber rest on him, glassy and wide.

It can’t be. It _can’t_. But it is.

Before he can even think, he stands, letting his half full glass fall from his grip and clatter to the floor. He takes a step forward, watching the ginger from just a few metres away, trembling and frozen, like a deer caught in headlights. Kenma takes another step forward and knows, with absolute certainty, who it is that stands before them all.

“ _Shōyō?_ ” He whispers, voice breaking.

This is the first time any of them have seen Hinata Shōyō since he disappeared six years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be writing a second part for this! I'm probably halfway through my TsukiHina one-shot, so I'm not sure if I'll be posting that first or the second part of this.
> 
> Either way, I'll probably have something uploaded in the next week or so.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not me saying I'll post this in a week and coming back a month later.
> 
> Jokes aside, I work in retail and Xmas really kicked my ass, so I only got around to this in the last week or so! Also, I wasn't liking how long this chapter was getting so it's been split into two parts! Hopefully I'll get the last one out SOON lol.
> 
> NOTE: There's one mention of domestic violence (literally just the words "a lot of hitting") and while child abuse isn't exactly implied or referenced, a degree of child neglect/abuse can be inferred from the content of the chapter. I'm not sure if this qualifies for a tag, but if anyone believes it should or if they feel there's a more accurate tag I can put PLEASE let me know and I will add it.

Hinata Shōyō has a talent for doing the seemingly impossible.

It started with just his general _involvement_ in volleyball. A boy who doesn’t even measure 165 centimetres wanting to be a wing spiker? Impossible. Unless you’re Shōyō, who seems to blatantly _disregard_ physics with his jumps.

Every person who ridiculed his dreams and determination – and there were many who did – would undoubtedly eat their words when faced with the force that is Shōyō. Kenma’s witnessed this firsthand too many times to count.

The next impossible thing he did was befriend Kageyama Tobio. Kenma only knows the basic gist of Kageyama’s time in middle school, but he knows enough to understand that the mental space the setter was in when starting high school wasn’t one that could’ve possibly allowed a loud, persistent ginger to become his friend.

But Shōyō doesn’t care for what shouldn’t be possible, so not only did the two become friends, they became _best_ friends. Shōyō just has that way about him.

He overcame the impossible again when he miraculously got Tsukishima Kei – one of the most antagonistic, closed off people Kenma’s ever met – to date him. It was incredibly weird at first, for basically everyone. Kenma knows that the Karasuno Volleyball Club were not expecting it, their shock still evident on their faces when they rocked up to training camp that summer.

And Kenma, while admittedly highly observant, was also quite shocked. He’d only met the blonde middle blocker twice – first at the practice match in Golden Week and second at the first training camp weekend – and both times he and Shōyō had shown absolutely no interest in each other. In fact, they showed the complete _opposite_.

When the team had arrived at the camp late that day the two showed no signs of even being together, and didn’t until a match the next day where the two had pulled off a successful block. It had resulted in an overzealous hug from the ginger followed by a sloppy kiss on the cheek. And Tsukishima had just let it happen.

Nekoma was clued in enough to the crows team dynamics to understand that that was _entirely_ out of character for the two, and when Kenma looked over at their teammates he realised that they, too, were at a loss for words – although, they were significantly less shocked than Kenma’s own teammates, so he deduced that they at least knew beforehand.

Later, when individual practice had wrapped up and Tsukishima was still being pestered by Kuroo and Bokuto, Shōyō had come to Nekoma’s room to play some games. Kenma isn’t one to pry into something he’s not directly involved in, but he would be lying if he didn’t admit that something ugly was rearing its head inside him – wondering why _Tsukishima_ of all people. Why not him?

“So,” he started, unsure how to actually broach the topic. “You and Tsukishima?”

Shōyō brightened up immediately at the blonde’s name, an almost wistful look overtaking his face. “Yeah,” he sighed, a blush creeping high on his face. “It just… works, you know?”

Kenma, in fact, didn’t know. But that didn’t stop him from nodding his head and dropping the topic. He wasn’t about to delve into emotions he refused to decipher.

Over the next few months, he would get brief updates about the two through text messages every other day. Nothing over the top, just little things about how _Tsukki shared his sandwich with me_ or _Tsukki bought me a t-shirt I really wanted_. On the odd weekend that the two would make the trip down to Tokyo, they were never overly affectionate with each other. When sightseeing with him and Kuroo, they rarely held hands, although Shōyō would occasionally hold onto the blonde’s arm, and would bicker like usual.

Kenma wouldn’t have thought the two were a couple if not for the little moments he’d catch. When Shōyō would lower his voice to say something only Tsukishima could hear. When Tsukishima would wrap his scarf around Shōyō when the Autumn wind picked up just a little too much.

Shōyō had done the impossible by softening up an incredibly hard Tsukishima Kei.

He’d also done the impossible by remaining good friends with the blonde after their breakup later that year.

Their ending, much like their beginning, was unexpected. At the time, no one knew what exactly had gone down. According to their teammates, they’d left practice Saturday afternoon, ready to spend the weekend at the blonde’s house for their six month anniversary, and came back Monday morning with the announcement that they had split.

The two looked and acted no different, and when Kenma saw them just a week later at Nationals, he even thought they looked _lighter_ almost.

He hates to admit that he felt the same.

It was a weird notion to hold, but he didn’t understand why it made sense until a few years ago, when Tsukishima drunkenly opened up to the group that the reason they had broken up was because of their interest in other people.

Tsukishima had apparently been unknowingly pining for his green-haired boyfriend since before he and Shōyō had broken up, while the ginger himself had admitted to gaining feelings for another in the past few months. Tsukishima had claimed that night, bent over a table and still nursing his eighth beer, that he hadn’t known who until they’d seen each other again the next school year.

But despite their breakup, the two were still so comfortable with each other that they slipped up sometimes during the week of Nationals. Kenma saw it in their lingering touches during meals, in the spare drink one would seemingly always have for the other. He’d see it in their pre-game talk, foreheads resting against each other’s as they whispered encouragements and prayers.

He saw it in the kiss they shared on live television after their win against Inarizaki, lips clashing together as Shōyō’s legs wrapped around Tsukishima’s torso, the blonde’s arms wrapping around the ginger’s waist.

He doesn’t know if these slip ups kept occurring as the school year went on, but he does know that when Shōyō arrived at Nekoma High School in April the next year, an official 2nd year student at the Tokyo school, that they no longer would be making those mistakes.

Kenma would be lying if he says that after seeing Shōyō hesitantly walk into their gym that first day of school, registration form clutched tightly in hand and smile just a tad too tight to be natural, he wasn’t surprised.

The ginger had given the pudding-haired setter no indication of moving schools – of moving _to his school_ – and when bombarded with questions about it by the team, he only gave a weak laugh and an excuse about his parents’ work forcing them to relocate.

By the light missing in his eyes while saying it, Kenma could tell the middle blocker was lying.

But nonetheless, Kenma could never get a true reason out of him, and instead was regaled to being the subject of Shōyō’s next impossible task.

The ginger had already proven himself capable of cracking Kenma’s hard exterior during Golden Week the year prior, when he had befriended the quiet setter in a quicker time than anyone had. It was impressive even to Kenma, but he thought that would be the extent of Shōyō’s infiltration into his life.

If someone was to say that throughout nearly the entirety of Shōyō’s and Tsukishima’s relationship he would harbour romantic feelings for the ginger he’d simply roll his eyes. And if someone was to say that over a year later that same ginger would confess his feelings for Kenma while stargazing in the setter’s backyard, hands brushing ever so slightly as they looked up at the pitch black sky, he’d outright laugh in their face.

But, Shōyō likes to prove everyone wrong in every way possible, so that’s exactly what happened. Kenma had frozen, unsure if he’d fallen asleep along the way and was dreaming. And when Shōyō turned to his side, amber eyes glowing under the moonlight with determination as he waited for a response, all he could think to do was surge forward to press a kiss onto unsuspecting lips.

It was short, barely a brush, but as golden eyes stared into amber, he knew that he’d gotten his point across. And when Shōyō launched forward, pushing Kenma onto his back to press his lips back onto his, deep and slow, he knew that they had just taken the next step.

But it didn’t last long.

They’d been dating for almost three months, had just qualified for Spring Interhigh, and decided to push themselves even further in celebration.

They had been in Shōyō’s room, Kenma lying flat on the bed, Shōyō crouched on top of him, straddling the setter’s hips, lips locked and unrelenting. The ginger’s fingers were tangled in his hair, pulling and tugging, while Kenma’s hands were brushing his waist, fingers grazing burning skin just under his t-shirt.

It wasn’t until later, when both their shirts were off and Shōyō was _grinding_ into Kenma’s lap, kiss constantly breaking from the gasps and moans the two were letting out, that they were interrupted. Shōyō’s little sister had flung the door open, pausing at the scene she witnessed, before she covered her eyes and ran away with a squeal.

“Mum! Mum!” She’d yelled that night, running down the stairs to undoubtedly tell their mother what she’d just seen.

Shōyō had cursed and rushed to close the door, back pressed firmly against it, eyes wide with apprehension and… fear? Kenma wasn’t able to figure it out before it was gone, the ginger moving around the room to collect his things in a mad rush.

“You have to go,” he stated as he packed Kenma’s bag, throwing his shirt in the general direction of the bed. He stood once he was done, a crazed look in his eyes. “ _Now_. You need to leave Kenma, I’m sorry.”

Kenma was so confused, so overwhelmed with the urgency that Shōyō’s voice held that he didn’t even have time to process just what had happened until he was being pushed out Shōyō’s back door minutes later, school bag clutched tightly in hand.

At school the next day, Shōyō barely mentioned it, laughing off Kenma’s questions and squeezing his hand reassuringly as they walked into school. Kenma had let it go, instead letting the ginger talk about how he hoped they’d be able to face off against Karasuno at Nationals this time. He filed away the topic for later, when they weren’t surrounded by hordes of students, so Kenma could finally get a definitive answer on just what made Shōyō so _frenzied_ that night.

He never did get an answer because the next day Shōyō didn’t show up to school.

And the day after that Coach Nekomata informed the team that Shōyō had transferred out of Nekoma, to an unidentified school. And when Kenma couldn’t reach Shōyō through text, email or call, he visited his house to ask what the _fuck_ happened, only to find it empty, a _For Sale_ sign sitting in the front yard.

Frantic, he’d gotten in contact with Shōyō’s former teammates, hoping maybe they had some explanation. But when they didn’t, and when the multitudes of people that they contacted didn’t either, Kenma was forced to accept it.

The last impossible thing Kenma had witnessed Shōyō do was disappear from all their lives without a trace.

Until last week.

Kenma sits in his gaming room, eyes glazed over as they stare at the computer screen. He’s meant to be editing a video that was supposed to be uploaded two days ago, but the events of his birthday stays on his mind, unrelenting in their hold over him.

He’d barely had the ginger’s name out of his mouth when their group erupted, all as stunned as the next to see a person who up and left _six years ago_ in front them.

In front of them as an _exotic dancer_.

Kenma had so many questions – _has_ so many questions – but they were given no time, Shōyō yanking his hand from Nakamura’s before running back through the doors.

Kenma had tried to follow, Kuroo and Sugawara hot on his heels, but were quickly cut off by a snap of Nakamura’s fingers, their two waiters closing the door of the mezzanine, effectively shutting them in.

Nakamura had cleared his throat, directing all attention to him, a blank look sitting on his face. “I’m sorry, but you need to leave,” he said, tone hard, a stark contrast to the man they’d just met minutes ago.

“He’s our friend,” Kuroo pleaded. “We haven’t seen him in-”

“He doesn’t look very much like a _friend_ to me,” Nakamura interrupted, eyes narrowed with contempt, his expression so cold a chill permeated the air. “It _looked_ like you were about to _harass_ my star dancer.”

 _My?_ Kenma had thought before it clicked into place that Nakamura _owned_ the bar. Even in his shock, Kenma could understand the man’s unease from a business perspective. Doesn’t mean he was about to let that stop him from seeing Shōyō for the first time in six years.

Kenma, in all his years of apathy and wallflower tendencies, had heavily pushed past the billionaire, heading to the door, intent on getting even just one word from the ginger who remained in his memories, remained such a large part of him, to this very day.

But as much as he wasn’t about to let a businessman stop him, he couldn’t really prevent the security guard outside from doing just that.

So, with only the knowledge that the _Sunny_ they had witness on stage was, in fact, Shōyō and a brief glimpse at said man, the group was hauled out of the bar, kicking and screaming in a useless attempt to just _see_ the ginger again.

“Now that my debt’s repaid,” Nakamura had said at the entrance, once all of them were sitting on the abandoned street, five security guards blocking their only hope of confirming that the Shōyō they just saw wasn’t a hallucination. “You’ve overstayed your welcome. Please do not contact me or visit us again.”

And with that, the doors were shut, blocking the twelve of them from probably their only chance of seeing Shōyō after so long.

Kenma had tried to go back a few nights later, the Karasuno alumni who had played with Shōyō, including Yachi, and Kuroo in tow. They were promptly threatened by the security, and sent away without so much as a glance inside.

When they tried again a few days after that, they found the entire building gutted and abandoned. Their one lead – their only hope of reconnecting with Shōyō – had disappeared into thin air, much like the ginger himself had done all those years prior.

Kenma still doesn’t understand how Shōyō continues to do the impossible.

He sighs, resting his elbows on the desk as he scrubs at his face hard, unsuccessfully trying to clear his mind. He leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling, taking deep breaths and he thinks.

What can he do? He can’t give up, he knows that, but after their last attempt he was _lost_ , _clueless_ as to what their next move could be. They had no information on Shōyō, nothing even remotely helpful that could lead them to him.

It feels like the universe is playing some sick joke on him. Kenma won’t ever admit just how affected he’s been by Shōyō’s absence since high school, but he also won’t ever deny that Shōyō has never left his mind, never could leave it. And while this is very much true, that Kenma cannot move on from the enigma that is Hinata Shōyō, as days and weeks and months and _years_ passed the sting of his disappearance had lessened on him.

The dull ache Kenma feels now when he sees _too_ bright orange hair adorning a stranger, when he hears a laugh just a little _too_ similar to the sunshine laugh he’s heard so many times, when he smells greasy street food _too_ reminiscent of the fried snacks they’d pick up after practice – the slight bruising that surrounds his heart bears no comparison to the deep cut he carried those first couple of years.

Because while he could never bring it in him to let Shōyō go, to leave him in the past, he did learn to deal with it, to hide it, to occupy himself. He learned to _grow_ , and he was still learning to this day.

But life is cruel and just as Kenma had gotten used to thinking of Shōyō as a memory, as a fleeting moment in his life so pivotal to who he is now but also so unattainable, it rips open the grotesquely healed wound on his heart, drags a knife through it to cut deeper into him, dangling the ginger at a distance too great to close but close enough to look.

If Shōyō completely disappears from his life again, Kenma doesn’t know how he’ll heal from it a second time.

“You look like shit,” a voice calls from the hallway. He snaps his head over to the door where Tsukishima stands, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the frame. Kenma couldn’t say when he got there and when he looks out the window to see the sun no longer in the sky, he’s a little shocked. Has he really been out of it for that long? “Usually you answer when someone talks to you,” Tsukishima snarks, no real bite behind his words.

Kenma rolls his eyes as he stands from his chair, stretching his protesting muscles and aching joints. “I’m _thinking_ , you giant. Let me wallow in peace,” he says as he feels a joint pop.

“No can do,” Tsukishima says, eyes just a little too pitying for Kenma’s liking. He looks back at his desk, shuffling the papers that have accumulated around his set up. “It’s Sunday night – everyone’s already downstairs.” When Kenma doesn’t look up from his meaningless shuffling he sighs. “We got Thai food tonight.”

Kenma perks slightly, looking at the doorway. “Green curry?” He asks with the slightest bit of hope in his voice.

“Extra spicy,” Tsukishima smirks, knowing he’s won.

Kenma sighs, “you can’t let Tadashi and Hitoka choose the movie again.” He shuffles out of the room and down the hallway, Tsukishima’s heavy footsteps following close behind.

He hears a snort and a, “you try saying no to their pleading faces.”

It’s those same pleading faces that make the five of them watch some trashy 80’s Western romance. Kenma privately thinks it’s unfair letting them choose the movie for the 57th time in a row, but when Yachi’s eyebrows furrow just a little too much he gives in.

Instead he buries his head in his curry and half pays attention to the film. He sits on the armchair Sawamura had bought for him a few years back. He’d protested when he first saw it but after promptly falling asleep for four hours the very first time he sat in it, he couldn’t find it in himself to give it back.

Sawamura still looks smug whenever he comes over.

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi sit in front of the coffee table, the blonde sitting behind the green-haired boy and resting his chin on his shoulder. They’re whispering to each other as Yamaguchi explains something or other about a particular actress in the movie, Tsukishima listening intently despite Kenma knowing he has absolutely zero interest in it. Every couple minutes they stop to feed each other some noodles and Kenma has to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

Yachi and Kageyama occupy the couch behind the mind-numbing pair, snuggled close. Kageyama, in all his stiffness and intensity, looks so pliant and relaxed with his arm wrapped around his girlfriend’s midsection, her head snuggled comfortably under his. They’d finished their food a while ago and were now focusing on the movie, Kageyama not wavering from the screen despite loudly protesting the choice in the first place.

Sunday nights have been a tradition for them for almost as long as they’ve been friends. Even when Tsukishima and Yamaguchi couldn’t make it from Sendai and Kageyama had moved to Italy, they’d set up a group video call and put a movie on in the background while catching up on their lives. It’s always a comforting time for Kenma and despite the events of the past week, it’s as relaxing as ever.

Their friendship didn’t start out so easy. The Spring Interhigh was scheduled for soon after Shōyō had disappeared and seeing the Karasuno team was a bitter and awkward encounter. The then-second years were as awkward as Kenma usually is, skirting around uncomfortable topics and leaving conversations just a tad too quickly.

It wasn’t until after their loss against Inarizaki that any of them found the courage to speak up. Their teams had stayed in the same inn that year, rooms on opposites ends of the hallway. So, when Kenma stepped out for some fresh air and found all second years – Yachi included – sitting outside he was slightly shocked when they asked him to stay.

It was by no means an easier conversation than any of the ones they’d had that week, but it was the most reassuring one. It lasted hours, everyone reminiscing on Shōyō and wondering where he was. Kageyama stating his regrets about not being a better friend, Yachi denying that Shōyō thought of him as anything less than his best friend, Tsukishima opening up about the circumstances of their breakup, Yamaguchi wishing he could’ve been closer to him.

Kenma didn’t admit to much, but he did admit that he was in love with him that night. He hadn’t even mentioned it to the ginger himself, their feelings too new to label it as such. But Kenma knew, had known for months by that point that the feelings he had for Shōyō went so much further than simple affection.

So their friendship started out of pity for each other. Keeping in contact to check in, to see if there were any updates, to know if Shōyō had contacted any of them. After the four graduated high school, it quickly evolved into something much deeper. Quick update texts became bi-weekly video calls became fortnightly catch ups became having the spare keys to each other’s houses and the ability to stop by at any time unannounced.

They’re a given presence in Kenma’s life, a stable one that he appreciates in every shape and form. And as bitter as it makes him feel, Kenma knows it only happened because of Shōyō’s disappearance.

“Did anyone order more food?” Yamaguchi asks, forcing Kenma’s attention to turn to him. He looks on inquisitively, noticing the movie’s been paused and everyone’s looking at each other shaking their heads. Before he can ask what’s happened the doorbell rings, presumably for the second time. “Who’d be here so late on a Sunday night?” The freckled man asks as he untangles himself from Tsukishima, padding out of the theatre room to the front door.

“Did you get dessert, Tobio?” Yachi asks.

“No, I’m cutting at the moment,” Tobio says simply, shaking his head in confusion.

“Were you expecting someone, Kenma?” Tsukishima asks from the floor. At Kenma’s head shake he lets out a soft _huh_ before shrugging, leaning forward to eat some more of his noodles.

“Uh guys,” Yamaguchi’s voice sounds from beyond the door. “We have… we have a- a _guest_.” Hesitation colours his voice and they all look at each other curiously before looking at the door as the man himself walks through. He’s not alone, another man walking in behind him, a sheepish expression on his pale face. Kenma chokes on air.

Shōyō stands before them all, dressed in joggers and a jumper, ginger hair hidden beneath a black hood. He smiles slightly, but the way his cheeks are flushed and his eyes sad twists the upturn of his lips into something melancholy.

The room is silent, tension thick in the air as they all stare at the ginger. He hasn’t moved from the doorway, right hand gripping his left arm tightly. It reminds Kenma of that night in the bar and he becomes so paranoid that Shōyō will leave again that he stands from his seat without thinking.

He gestures lamely at the seat, moving from the armchair to the opposite end of the couch from Kageyama and Yachi.

When Shōyō doesn’t make a move, Yamaguchi clears his throat. “Please sit down,” he says quietly. It spurs the former middle blocker into action, he nods his head as he slowly moves to the armchair, sinking into it.

Yamaguchi moves back to the ground next to Tsukishima, who hasn’t taken his eyes off the ginger since he appeared.

Shōyō coughs lightly, the first sound he’s made since arriving, and smiles weakly at everyone, eyes settling on Kenma for a second longer before darting back to the ground.

“I- I, uh, I didn’t expect to see all of you at once,” he says, laughing nervously as he grips onto the material of his pants. “I didn’t know you guys were close friends.”

“Shōyō, you’ve been gone six years,” Tsukishima says bluntly, tone a little harsher than any of them have heard it in a while. Kenma glances over to see the look of surprise on the blonde’s own face and knows that it was accidental.

Shōyō winces, curling in on himself as if the words have physically pained him. “I… I deserve that,” he huffs out a breath and silences for a second before shaking his head vigorously and moving to stand up. “I’m sorry, this was a mistake. I shouldn’t even be here, I should just-”

“Wait!” Kageyama’s voice startles everyone, forcing Shōyō to stop in his bid to leave. Kenma’s just glad _someone’s_ said something, considering he was too frozen to even utter a single word. “You can’t just- you can’t just _leave_.” Kageyama’s voice is also hard, desperation lacing his words. “ _Again_.”

It’s a low blow, something that they all know will inevitably hurt Shōyō, maybe guilt him enough into staying, but they also can’t let him walk out for a third time.

Shōyō remains standing, eyes blank before they regain a fire Kenma hasn’t seen in years. It takes him a second to realise that Shōyō’s _angry_.

“Do you think-” he sputters, body turning to fully face the room, shoulders set and hands squeezing into fists at his side. His face is red, brows furrowed, chest heaving with heavy breaths. “Do you think I _wanted_ to leave?! That I _chose_ to just walk away?!” His voice rises with each word. He’s never been good with containing his emotions.

Kageyama stands up, shaking off Yachi’s hand from his forearm. “I don’t know! _None_ of us know!” He near yells back, stance mirroring Shōyō’s. “You _disappeared_ for _six years_ , Hinata. And then we see you again at a _fucking strip club_ -”

“It’s not a strip club!” Hinata interrupts, but Kageyama doesn’t care.

“ _Whatever_ , all that matters is _you_ ran away _again_.” Hinata has his mouth opened to retort, but shuts it promptly, leaving a thick cloud of silence between the two as they continue to glare at each other.

“Hinata,” Yachi says gently, drawing everyone’s attention to her. “We want you to be here. We’ve missed you terribly, and we just want to know what happened.” She smiles softly as she says this, a kind aura surrounding her. Shōyō stares at her for a few seconds before looking around the room slowly.

He looks first at Yamaguchi, who smiles encouragingly. And then Tsukishima, who holds his stare back. He looks to Kageyama, who breathes deeply before nodding shortly, sitting back down next to Yachi.

Finally, he looks at Kenma. Amber eyes meet yellow and Kenma feels his breath hitch. He stares at the ginger for what feels like an eternity, taking in the changes of the man who used to be the boy he loved.

His face is slimmer now, baby fat long gone, replaced by sharp angles and pointed features. His lips are as full as they’ve always been, slightly cracked and paler than he remembers. Unconsciously, he thinks about whether they’d kiss the same and curses himself for thinking such a thing. His nose is slightly crooked, like it’s been broken, and Kenma is sure it wasn’t like that in high school.

But it’s his eyes that have changed the most. They’re sunken in, dark circles forming deep under them. His amber eyes aren’t as shining as he remembers, dulled from _something_ , not as intense. Even the anger that coursed through them just moments ago was less powerful than what it would’ve been six years ago.

Kenma wonders just what caused the soul of the brightest person he’s ever met to dull so drastically.

Shōyō must see something affirmative in Kenma’s gaze because he turns away, looking up at the ceiling and breathing in deeply before lowering himself back onto the armchair.

“It’s a long story,” Shōyō says softly, looking at Yachi. “I don’t really know where to begin.”

“How about the beginning?” Tsukishima answers, voice considerably softer than it was a few minutes ago.

Shōyō nods. “Right, right…” he trails off, “I guess I should start with my transfer then.” He lets out a puff of air, scratching his cheek. “I’ve… never told anyone this, but,” he pauses. “The reason I transferred to Nekoma was because my parents discovered I’m gay.”

Tsukishima sucks in an audible breath. “Was it…” he doesn’t finish his sentence, but Shōyō knows anyway, nodding solemnly.

“They were watching the Inarizaki match at Nationals and saw our kiss,” he says sadly, smiling regretfully at the blonde man.

“Shōyō,” Tsukishima breathes. “I’m- I’m so _sorry_ , I didn’t-”

“Kei, it’s not your fault!” Shōyō interrupts. “ _I’m_ the one that jumped on _you_ , even though we were already broken up. And… they would’ve found out eventually. Unfortunately, they blamed my being gay on me spending so much time with the team and you, so they decided to up and move.”

Shōyō holds Tsukishima’s gaze for a moment more, trying to convey that he never once blamed him, before turning to look at Kenma. “Nekoma was a complete accident, and the only reason they let me continue going was because I never told them about already knowing your team.” Shōyō ruffles his hair roughly, tugging the hood off. “They didn’t even know I was in your volleyball team, I told them I enrolled in the track and field club. They blamed me being gay on _team sports_ , which-” he cuts himself off with a bitter laugh, harsh in the silence of the room. “How _stupid_ can they get honestly?” He asks, mostly to himself.

They sit in silence again, the five of them staring intently at Shōyō, as if even daring to look away would cause him to vanish, while the man himself fidgets with his hands, biting his lip as he continues to think.

He shakes his head and looks up abruptly, a grimace on his face as he moves to continue. “The night Natsu caught us… I knew it was over. They were _furious_ about – well, about everything really. I kind of, uh, blocked out what happened over the next few days. There was a lot of yelling, a lot of hitting, a lot of anger. Next thing I know we’re in our car on the way to Osaka and my dad’s told me he’s pulled me out of school entirely.”

Kenma sits there shocked. He doesn’t know what to say – hasn’t known the entire time the ginger has been in his house. Everything Shōyō has said so far has sounded horrifying, but Kenma can only sit there, knowing that it’s just the beginning.

“I don’t get it,” Yamaguchi pipes up. “Why would they move to _two_ entirely new cities?”

Shōyō chuckles darkly, “they were worried that staying anywhere in Miyagi would encourage me to see Kei again – despite how many times I told them there was nothing to see. And when they found out about Kenma they thought the same about Tokyo.” He shrugs, looking back at Kenma. Kenma’s split between wanting to stare back forever or hide from those eyes. “He broke my phone – only hours after Natsu caught us – and wouldn’t let me get a new one. It’s- _God_ , this is so presumptuous of me, but if you had bothered to contact me that’s why you couldn’t.”

“Are you _fucking_ serious?!” a voice screams and Kenma’s so taken aback that it takes a few seconds to realise it’s _him_ that spoke. Everyone’s looking at him shocked, Shōyō’s eyes are wide and mouth slightly agape. He blushes, but looks directly at Shōyō, unyielding in his gaze. He didn’t mean to speak, but he’ll finish what he started. “We didn’t stop trying for _months_ , Shōyō. Don’t you _dare_ , for a single _second_ , think none of us were worried for you. Because we were – every single day, we didn’t stop. _None of us did_.”

Kenma doesn’t break from Shōyō, doesn’t let any weakness show, let’s Shōyō know that they were always waiting for him. Shōyō looks back, eyes still wide and mouth still agape. He just stares for a while before his amber eyes start to turn glassy, tears rapidly filling them and spilling onto his pale cheeks.

The room collectively freaks out. Shōyō’s been here for _ten_ minutes, Kenma’s said _one_ thing, and he’s already breaking down on them. But Shōyō waves away all concern, wiping his tears as he starts honest to God _laughing_ as he cries.

“You have-” he chokes on a laugh mixed with a sob, “you have _no idea_ how much – how much I needed to hear that.” He continues crying, not even bothering to wipe his tears as he smiles wide. So similar to the smile the five of them remember from all those years ago, yet so different as well. “Guys, I-I tried to do something – _anything_ – to find you guys again. I started working at a convenience and lied about my salary so I could buy a train ticket back to Tokyo or Miyagi, but I wouldn’t be able to explain being gone for so long. So, I saved up more and bought a phone, but- but I couldn’t. I couldn’t remember anyone’s numbers.” He breaks into a new round of sobs and it’s then that Yachi moves from where she’s been half standing since the first tear and moves to crouch in front of him.

She kneels, rubbing her palms along his arms and cooing, “Shōyō, it’s okay. Take your time, no one’s forcing you.” She whispers sweet nothings as she continues to soothe him until his sobs die down to hiccups.

His hair is messed and frizzy from where he’s gripped it, cheeks wet and red, eyes puffy and raw, but as Kenma looks on all he sees is beauty – hair bouncy, cheeks plump, eyes glistening. Why Kenma thought he could ever move on from this man is beyond him.

Shōyō takes deep breaths, calming his breathing, and smiles weakly at Yachi, who stays kneeling on the ground next to him, hand rubbing his thigh in comfort. “I couldn’t remember anyone’s details,” he resumes, speaking slow and still breathing deep. “I… couldn’t take it then. It’d been months since my parents had moved us there, months since I’d spoken to any of you guys – to anyone I knew really. They didn’t let me have friends, I was forced to see this _therapist_ that ‘specialised’ in gay conversion therapy-” they all gasp, but Shōyō doesn’t elaborate, only nods as he continues. “I was meant to be a high school senior, playing volleyball with my best friends and my boyfriend.” He looks at everyone, Kenma last, smiling sadly. “It was meant to be the best year of my life. But, instead I was in my room at 11pm on a Wednesday night screaming my lungs out over some forgotten numbers.”

He sniffles, wipes at a few stray tears that escape his eyes. “My parents found me like that, and I was… inconsolable. One thing led to another and I was kicked onto the street with nothing – they took my phone, my wallet, my money. I only had the clothes on my back.”

“ _What?_ ” Yachi whispers as the others gape.

Shōyō nods. “I scavenged for a couple months, but then it started getting colder and – I know, if I didn’t do something drastic soon, I’d either freeze or starve to death. So – _fuck_ , please don’t judge me for this,” he pleads, looking desperately at everyone.

When everyone responds in turn he breathes deeply, looking at the ground. “That’s when I decided to start selling myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I headcanon that in this AU, Hinata is only marginally taller than he is in high school (like literally a couple centimetres) and the same thinness. The weight will make sense, but I imagine because he went through such a stressful time after his disappearance his growth was severely stunted and he never grew much more before finishing puberty.
> 
> Come yell at me in the comments about whether you liked this chapter or not - I'm still 50/50 about it.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's literally been 2 days since I last updated and I'm back with the final chapter. Did someone say ~inconsistent posting schedule~?
> 
> Anyway, on a serious note, this chapter deals with some heavy stuff - a lot of mental health stuff that isn't explicitly named, but is experienced by characters. It also deals with negative reactions to prostitution and sex work and I just want to DISCLAIM that this is NOT my personal opinion about this. I mentioned in the last chapter that I work in retail, which is true, but I DO also work in sex work. I will not divulge the specifics of what I do, but I have dabbled in almost everything. The depiction I show here is the common stigma that surrounds sex work and should not be taken as fact, as sex work is diverse industry filled with tons of different people.
> 
> If anything I've written here offends you, please let me know and I'll do my best to change it.

The 18th winter of Shōyō’s life was, in the simplest of terms, terrifying.

He’d been out on the streets for just over two months by the time he’d made his decision. Two months spent under cardboard boxes in alleyways. Two months spent scrounging around for any food scraps he could. Two months spent washing his clothes in a public park restroom sink and drying them under the hand dryer – the very same clothes he was kicked out in that night.

But he couldn’t avoid it anymore. The winter chill was starting to seep in, his light jacket not enough to keep him warm during the day, his cardboard box not enough to keep the chill away during the night. Nowhere respectable would hire a homeless person and the convenience store he did work at fired him when he was kicked out.

He was desperate by that point. Out of time and out of options, he’d gone to the library to research _anything_ he could do to get even enough money for a warm sleeping bag. And after a few hours of scrolling and searching, he’d come to an uncomfortable conclusion, one that left a bad taste in his mouth and a queasy feeling in his stomach.

He couldn’t bring himself to do it at first, too shocked and too unwilling to even _think_ about that possibility. But then two days later, night temperatures dropped to a record low and Shōyō found himself near freezing to death. He’d known by that point – it was his only chance of survival now.

So, the very next day he'd stolen someone’s wallet, bought himself some new (and – as horrifying as it was – _revealing_ ) clothes, some basic toiletries and went to a bath house to clean himself up for the first time in months.

He tried to quell the urge to vomit at the idea that his first shower in months was because of what he was about to do.

He was in the red light district by sundown that night. He had his first customer within 30 minutes.

The next morning he was leaned over a bush, vomiting his guts out, ¥20000 tucked into the pocket of his shorts.

The morning after that, it was ¥40000.

He hated himself entirely, but the warm room at the love hotel he could rent every night and the fresh food that filled his belly after his morning puke made it all worth it.

So he kept going, letting all his hatred fester inside himself as he watched his newly bought wallet fill and fill itself with every new man he took to bed.

And that’s how Nakamura Hideko found him two months later, crying to himself in the early morning in a public park after having emptied out the contents of his stomach.

“I’ve seen you,” he’d said in lieu of greeting. Shōyō looked up, eyesight blurry from the tears in his eyes, mouth still drooling bile from his actions just minutes earlier. “Around the district I mean. My men alerted me to it a while back, but I told them to let you go. Thought maybe you were a desperate kid who’d chicken out after a round or two.” Shōyō sniffled, wiping the last bit of vomit and the tears from his face, looking up at the older gentleman who just stared back with a scrutinizing look in his eyes. “Looks like I was wrong.”

They sat in silence for a little bit after that, Shōyō had tried to collect his thoughts.

Eventually, he asked, “who are you?”

“Call me Nakamura,” he’d answered shortly.

Shōyō nodded. “And what do you want from me? To stop?” He asked defensively. Sure, he had money now, but not nearly enough. He could barely afford a hotel room for the next week with the money he had now, and he knew there was no chance of him getting a job in that short amount of time.

The man – Nakamura – continued to scrutinize him for a second, before turning to look out at the park with a sigh. Shōyō followed his gaze to where a group of joggers were passing through on the opposite side.

“No,” the other man had finally spoken. “I’m offering you a spot at my shop.”

Shōyō whipped his head around to stare at the man in disbelief. “ _What?_ ” He asked incredulously. “What kind of _shop_ , exactly, do you run, Mr. Nakamura?”

The older man huffed out a laugh. “Well, during the _night_ , I run a shop for exactly what you’re doing now.”

“If I’m already doing it, then why do I need-”

“You’ll get a bed,” he interrupted, effectively shutting Shōyō up. “Permanently.” He turned back to the ginger on the ground, eyes unyielding. “All your customers will be vetted by a team to deem them safe. We’ll take a fee – obviously – but you’ll still get your money. How much do you make in a night right now? ¥30000? ¥50000?”

Shōyō sniffled, pulling his winter coat around himself tighter. “Something like that.”

“You’ll get double that in a night.” Shōyō’s eyes widened. “And you won’t have to work every night like you do now.”

It sounded too good to be true and Shōyō had known that past him would’ve believed it in a heartbeat.

Well, past him wouldn’t even _be_ in this situation, but nonetheless, there was no valid reason for him to trust it now. He was doing fine on his own. He couldn’t trust others. He’d learnt this already.

“You’ll finally be around others like you.”

Shōyō looked back up at that. _Others?_

“Our shop houses five men and six women. All with their own backgrounds, all with their own stories. But,” Nakamura pushed himself off of the tree he was leaning against, moving towards Shōyō on the ground with a hand stretched out. “They have each other. I don’t want to watch you waste away by yourself in the next couple months when I know I could help.”

Shōyō had looked at the hand then before looking back at the man it was attached to. He looked at him, holding his gaze, trying to determine the intention behind it. Determine the truth.

When he couldn’t find anything malicious, he nodded just slightly and took the hand offered to him.

His fate was sealed from that very day.

Within the shop, Shōyō grew to be the most popular, his small stature, androgynous looks and foreign features attracting all sorts of customers. With every new customer came more money and soon he was the top earner of the store, effectively delaying his departure with every passing week until he’d been with the store for two years.

No one stayed as long as he did, but there was one who was close. A woman, just two years older than him, forced to sell herself because of her family’s debts. They roomed together and, after a particularly bad night for the both of them, bonded so much they spent nearly every waking hour together. Eating, sleeping, watching television, talking, crying, vomiting, breaking down. They helped each other with everything, through everything. And when she finally paid off the debt and left, he was happy for her – truly happy. After all, it was only because of each other that they could make it through the days.

So when he finally crashed – he crashed _hard_.

He’d been there for two years. The favourite of the customers and the favourite of Nakamura, he was given just a _little_ more special treatment. Extra money, new clothes, extra vacations. So, after two years of being without one, when Nakamura gifted him a brand new smartphone, Shōyō wasn’t the least bit surprised.

He was ecstatic though, immediately running to all his housemates and security guards for their numbers and getting tips on what to do with it. His first mistake was finding his way onto a video streaming website called _YouTube_.

His second was finding Kenma’s YouTube channel.

He’d broken on the spot, screaming at the top of his lungs as he clutched his head in his hands. Everything from before his life there, all his repressed emotions and memories, rose to the surface, ripping through his layers of protection, bleeding him dry from the inside out. He screamed and screamed until someone found him, screamed until his voice was gone, screamed until the ambulance came, screamed until he passed out.

And when he woke up in hospital later that evening, he cried until he couldn’t anymore. Cried for the people he left behind, for the life he could’ve had, for the life he had now.

And when Nakamura came in, rushing to his bedside to comfort him, wrapping his arms around his shaking shoulders, he stayed until the sobs died down to hiccups and silent tears.

They sat in silence, Nakamura rubbing his back as he wallowed in himself, until the older man spoke up.

“Tell me what you need.”

Shōyō had looked up, eyes red and raw, broken beyond belief.

“You can’t give me what I need.”

He refused to say anything else for the next few days. Now that the dam had broken, he had become obsessed with updating himself on the lives of all his friends from his previous life. He refused all customers, locked himself in his room, and researched for hours – days – on end.

By the end of it, he came back to Nakamura with a new answer.

“I can’t leave this life now,” he’d began. “I’ve had one job in my life, I’m not smart and any chance I had at being a professional athlete is gone. But,” he breathed in deeply. “I can’t keep doing _this_. I can’t keep sleeping with random men only to look at myself in the mirror in the morning and hate the person I see. I can’t leave this life, but I can’t keep doing this part of it.”

Nakamura sat there, contemplating. Shōyō twitched in place, holding himself firm.

“I… might have something we can do – just for you, Shō.” Shōyō beamed, relief bubbling within him. “How do you feel about learning how to dance?”

***

“He moved me to Tokyo soon after. Because it wasn’t the same… _environment_ that I was working in in Osaka, he also bought me an apartment in the heart of the city,” Shōyō takes a deep breath, looking at the others gathered around him, his old friends – his old _loves_.

Well, maybe only _one_ old love. He can’t deny, as he looks at Kenma’s face, more dishevelled and tired-looking than in his memories but the same as all the videos and livestreams he’s watched over the years, that butterflies still fly around his stomach. He can’t deny, as he watches those cat-like eyes watch him back, that he’s been trying to fight a blush the entire time he’s been here.

He can’t deny, as he sits in his second boyfriend’s living room, that the reason he’s here now is because he could only think of Kenma after Saturday.

“I didn’t really expect to see any of you guys again,” he continues, looking around the room bashfully. “It’s kind of embarrassing, but I kept up with you almost obsessively.”

“Kenma,” he looks at Kenma, blushing at the intense look in the man’s eyes. He smiles softly at the flush he sees spread over the other’s cheeks. “I’ve watched all your videos and streams! Yachi and Yamaguchi, the day I found out you bagged these two idiots,” he points at Kageyama and Tsukishima, both of whom protest at varying noise levels. “You should have seen me that day! I’m pretty sure the bar manager was going to cut my tongue off with how much I went on about it!” The three giggle, Yamaguchi and Yachi in turn telling their own stories about their relationships, oblivious to the three fond stares they’re given by the remaining men in the room.

After a while, Shōyō turns to look at his former boyfriend and best friend. “Kei, Kageyama – you guys made it. I mean, I never doubted you guys for a second. I’ve watched all your games – I’ve even been to a few!”

Tsukishima’s eyes widen, “you-”

“You were at some of our games?!” Kageyama cuts him off. “And you didn’t try to find us?!”

Shōyō splutters, caught off guard. “I- you don’t understand! I couldn’t find you guys; I work in a cabaret bar! I didn’t know how I was going to talk to you!” He argues back.

Kageyama doesn’t back down, scowling deeply as he argues back. “You’re talking to us now!”

“That’s because you found me first! I never expected to see you guys at my fucking _bar_! I-” Shōyō stops, running a hand through his hair as he breathes harshly. “If you had to watch all your friends be professional gamers, volleyball players, policemen, models – if you had to watch all your friends go on with their life the way they wanted to, while you’re stuck in a job because you made a mistake when you were 18 – how would you re-introduce yourself? What would you say to them about the last six years of your life?”

Silence falls upon the group again as they bask in the meaning of his words. Shōyō _didn’t_ want the life he has now – he was forced into it. Starving, freezing, homeless, and broke, he was out of options and out of time.

Nakamura found him at the most vulnerable time in his life, but he also kept him in it. When the man found him, Shōyō was nowhere near ready to leave the nightlife, not enough money saved and not enough time to find a respectable job. Setting foot in his store in Osaka was a mistake, one that chained him to this kind of work for what Shōyō feels will be the rest of his life.

For all that Shōyō loves the man, adores him, is thankful for saving him from the dangerous work and homeless life, there is undeniably a small part that despises him. There’s some small part of Shōyō that believes that if Nakamura never found him, he might not be here. He might’ve finished with this life years and years ago.

But then he reminds himself of all the injured workers that entered their store, people who worked by themselves and walked the streets freely, beaten and attacked by potential customers in dark alleys. He reminds himself of the aggressive men he himself has encountered on nights off in between night clubs, beady eyes and sweaty skin, rough tugs of arms and curses yelled in his ears. He reminds himself of the number of dead sex workers that he’s seen litter the streets, some from the cold, some from customers, some from drug overdoses. 

Part of Shōyō resents that he’s still here, in this life, but part of him is just thankful he survived all those years ago. And he knows that the others know that, too.

“But Shōyō,” Kenma says softly, breaking the silence. Shōyō looks over at him, almost too eagerly.

When Shōyō had seen all his old teammates and friends he was – _terrified_. So scared, in fact, that he didn’t leave his apartment for the next few days, petrified and paranoid he’d run into them again despite not having seen them for years. The fear was strong enough that when Nakamura came to visit him on the second day locked in, he’d decided on the spot to change the location of the club. And that he did, up and moving the club in only a matter of days to another location on the opposite side of the city.

But as the days went on, Shōyō sank back into himself, obsessively checking social media and news for any updates he may have missed on all of them. But, unlike all those years ago, he did this with a sense of calm, a sense of resignation.

Because they’d _seen him_ in the bar – on the stage.

They’d seen him and from the few seconds he saw of them, and from the cameras he'd watched from the security room, he kept fooling himself into believing they would _care_ about where he’d been, about what’s happened to him.

He’s had this thought numerous times over the years. When he started to regularly watch Kenma’s channel, he thought of it. When he saw Lev’s modelling campaigns, he thought it again. When he’d go watch volleyball games featuring Kageyama or Tsukishima, he’d think it again.

_Do they remember me? Did they worry about me? Do they care?_

But every time, without fail, he’d shut it down. His own parent’s didn’t care about him, Nakamura only did because he’s so profitable. He learnt all those years ago, a scared 18 year old living on the Osaka streets in winter, that he shouldn’t rely on _anyone_ but himself. People from his old life would be no different.

But that day, the look he saw in Kenma’s eyes – the shock, the confusion, the hurt, the _compassion_ – made him think otherwise. Looking back at the security footage to see that it was _Kenma_ who moved forward, it was _Kenma_ that fought back, it was _Kenma_ that kept trying – it _changed_ something in his thinking.

Only slightly, but just enough. Just enough for him to ask Nakamura to find Kenma’s address. Just enough for him to gain the courage to walk over here. Just enough for him to ring the doorbell. Just enough for him to be sitting here, telling them his life story.

It was Kenma’s eyes, Kenma’s face, Kenma’s actions, Kenma’s determination, that brought him here. All Shōyō needs from tonight is his understanding. If he can get it, Shōyō knows he can move forward.

Shōyō knows he can move on.

“Why don’t you just leave now?”

 _Kenma doesn’t understand_.

He feels his face fall without his permission, mouth dropping open and eyes filling with tears as he looks on in horror. He sees the look on Kenma’s face as he realises he’s said the wrong thing, but he doesn’t stay to let him fix it – he _can’t_.

“This was a mistake,” he mumbles before he yanks Yachi’s hands off his leg, sprinting past them all and out of the room. He hears them follow, hears their yelling as he yanks the front door open and runs out of the house, down the quiet neighbourhood street.

He keeps running, blood rushing and heart pumping deafeningly loud in his ears, until he feels sick. He bends over at a corner under a streetlamp, panting and shaking, feeling like he might throw up any second. He falls to his knees, hunching over and he feels himself wretch. Nothing comes out, but he keeps going anyway.

He doesn’t know how long he sits like this, vision blurry, ears fuzzy, tongue heavy, but he’s broken from his reverie by a cold hand pressing against his cheek.

He startles back, falling onto his bottom as he looks at the stranger, so out of it that he forgets where he is. All he can see is the dark and some trees, and all of a sudden he’s back in that park in Osaka, puking his guts out after sleeping with some random man for money.

He can’t breathe, clutching his jumper to try and rip open his chest in hopes of getting some air, eyes darting left and right but not being able to take in anything else. He doesn’t know who the person is, terrified that it’s someone coming to take advantage of him now that he’s weak.

 _Weak_. He’s so _weak_ and he can’t get _stronger_. What can he do, when he’s like this? What can he do, when he’s alone? What can he do? What can he do? What can he-

“Shōyō!”

Who’s calling him? No one here knows his name. He has no one, only himself.

“Shōyō!”

The voice becomes familiar, soft and straining, like it’s not used to having to speak so loudly. Are they speaking loudly? They sound so far away, sound as if he’s beneath the water.

“ _Shōyō!_ ”

He snaps, breathing deep as he comes back to himself. His eyes clear and he looks up at the source of the voice, finding Kenma standing above him, a short distance away, hands up like he wants to touch but is afraid to.

“Shōyō? Can you hear me?” At his short nod, Kenma breathes a sigh of relief. “Hey, hey, can I touch you?” Another nod and Kenma places his hands on his calves, rubbing up and down softly. “You’re okay. You’re okay. It’s just me, no one else – only me.”

They sit like that, for how long Shōyō can’t say, until his stomach settles, and his breath doesn’t come in thundering rasps, and his tongue is no longer heavy.

They sit in silence, too scared to break it, to break the peace they’ve found between them.

Slowly, _slowly_ , Kenma brings his head forward, until their foreheads touch, and on instinct they both close their eyes. They bask in their presence, the first time they’ve been alone since they were discovered in his room all those years ago. Shōyō’s missed it, missed _him_ , and in that moment he realises something – Kenma might not understand fully, but he knows, with every bone in his body, that _Kenma wants to_.

And, Shōyō also knows, that’s _enough_.

“I’m so scared,” Shōyō whispers into the night, letting it take his words and hide it in its infinite darkness.

“I know,” Kenma whispers back. “I am, too. But,” Shōyō opens his eyes to see cat-like ones already staring back, bearing Kenma’s soul for him just as Shōyō feels his own doing the same. He breathes deep, basking in the bubble they’ve created for themselves. “We can try together.”

Kenma smiles then, small and intimate, one made only for him. And it’s infectious, digging under Shōyō’s skin, running through his veins, taking over his cells. Because, for the first time in a long time, he _feels_ a smile work its way onto his face, involuntary and non-forced.

He nods back, sunshine smile firmly held on his face, because that’s _enough_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it!
> 
> I actually had a whole other scene planned out, but when I finished writing that last scene between Kenma and Hinata I just couldn't think of a better way to end it, so I'll just do a quick explanation of the scene here lol:
> 
> Essentially, it's a vague time skip to sometime after Daichi and Kuroo's wedding, where the bulk of their friends catch up for a BBQ. It's casually mentioned that Hinata's just started a new job in the secretarial office of the volleyball association, inferring that he's quit working as a dancer. It's also inferred that him and Kenma live together.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this last chapter and it wrapped everything up nicely for you guys! Already working on my next piece, let's HOPE this one actually stays as a one shot like I intended this one to be (lol)


End file.
